Lollipops and Gumdrops
by Long Tongue Liar
Summary: Bernadette Wilson is picture perfect. She's a rule follower and a prime student. George Weasley is none of those things. Intrigued by her impenetrable composure, he pokes around to see if he can crack it.
1. Sweet Disposition

Mid-afternoon. A seemingly innocent classroom full of restless sixth years. It all seemed rather mundane to Bernadette Wilson. She'd already read ahead through that week's material, and though she had a penchant for Professor McGonagall's teaching she found herself hopelessly distracted through the whole lesson. It was an odd demeanor to find her trapped by.

She was a sixth year Ravenclaw and at the top of her class. It was not for lack of effort. The young woman studied more hours than she allowed herself to sleep and was always devoted to her schoolwork. She was usually attentive to a fault, always asked questions and never missed a beat during class hours. Never broke a rule once in her whole life either. Strict parents had shaped her into a perfect young lady who could do everything from produce a perfect charm to balance a book on top her head.

But for some reason that afternoon she couldn't seem to find her center. Her sharp-as-a-tack attention span dwindled away like fraying string. She placed her dainty chin in her hand and blew a sigh out of a mouth as red as rose hips.

Had she ever had the time or desire to be popular, she might have had a chance. Bernadette was a pretty thing, made up of soft lines and white skin. If she were a flower she might have been a white lily. Her hair was as blonde as white wine and hung in a smoothed, waved ponytail down her back. Her eyes were full and youthful, one stark blue and the other a rich hazel.

She was built like a dancer with long, willowy legs and a lean torso. When she walked she floated across the ground. To a stranger she might have been assumed to be some pureblood royalty. Of course, she'd been at Hogwarts long enough to build her true reputation. A regular old stick-in-the-mud Ravenclaw with perfect marks and arguably nice hair.

Bernadette was watching a leaf blow by the window when George Weasley leaned over from the seat to her right. He blocked the aisle between their two tables with an outstretched arm.

"Oi, Bernadette, right?" he hissed at her.

She wasn't often found associating with the Weasley twins, or anyone like them for that matter. The fact that she and George Weasley were assigned seats next to one another was sheer unfortunate happenstance. He hadn't made much of a nuisance out of himself so far, at least not directly. And she found it easy to ignore his in-class quips that had the rest of the student body giggling like mad in what Bernadette considered valuable learning time. She ignored him all together when she could. The Weasley twins were infamous for their rule breaking, reckless behavior and childish pranks. Bernadette never wanted anything to do with them, so she kept away.

But there she was, minutes towards the end of class, being whispered at by him. She couldn't just _ignore_ him.

"Yes," she whispered back, albeit suspiciously.

"Want a lolly?" he asked.

Now, the number one rule in Hogwarts is to _never_, ever under any circumstances take anything edible from either Fred or George Weasley. But unfortunately for Bernadette's character, tacked on to her bookish qualities was an embarrassing clumsiness around boys. All boys. Even ones who she shuddered at the thought of. Even George Weasley.

She turned to look at him. Though she cringed at the thought of his reckless attitude and complete disregard for all things studious, Bernadette had to admit George Weasley was looking rather dashing these days. He and his brother had let their hair grow out similarly and though red wasn't ever her color, it definitely suited him. It made his blue eyes pop in the regal, handsome structure of his face. He wore a crooked grin on his mouth like it was the newest fashion. That was just enough to get Bernadette past his previous indiscretions and the fact that they'd never spoken a word to each other before this.

Flustered she reached out a hand and accepted the pink sucker. He winked and leaned back into his own seat. Across the room she saw his identical brother give him a look. She couldn't quite read it. No one ever could. You never quite knew what the twins were up to, and that's the way they liked to keep it. Most people swore they had some freaky psychic link.

"Thanks," she said with a little waver to her voice. She looked to the front of the classroom to make sure Professor McGonagall hadn't caught her not paying attention and then glanced down at the lollipop.

Tentatively, she stuck it in her mouth, very aware of George's eyes on her all the while. The candy was strawberry flavored. She rolled the taste around on her tongue and struggled to pay attention to the end of the lesson.

Seconds after tasting the lollipop, her cheeks started to heat up. Bernadette thought nothing of it. That was, until the rest of her body started to grow hot. The warmth spread down from her cheeks to the tips of her toes. Her white skin grew sticky and uncomfortable. She felt like she was on fire. Her breath started to grow heavy in her lungs, hard as she tried to quiet it. She gripped the edge of the table and tried to get a hold of herself.

"I want you all to make sure you've read your material for next weeks lesson," Professor McGonagall was saying. Her voice sounded miles away.

Bernadette turned her head at George who she found grinning from ear to ear. An overwhelming and foreign urge drowned her willpower all of a sudden and before she could stop herself she ripped the lolly from her mouth and rose from her chair. Both objects clattered to the floor and Professor McGonagall went silent at the noise. The rest of the class turned to watch as Ms. Goody-Two-Shoes herself marched in front of George Weasley, shook her hair out of her ponytail, growled a little and proceeded to straddle the boy.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew what she was doing. But whatever was in the lollipop had complete override and her subconscious could do nothing but sit and watch as she swooped down and snogged the daylights out of the trickster. It was hard to kiss him because he was laughing, her primal instincts noted. Eventually, she was going so hard at it that she managed to flip both of them over. In a fluttering of robes and white blonde hair they crashed to the floor, mouths interlocked, Bernadette's hands roaming where no girls hands should roam in public.

"Ms. Wilson, Mr. Weasley, get a hold of yourselves!" Professor McGonagall screamed. She picked up her skirts and ran forward. "Really now, Ms. Wilson get off of him this instant or I'll –Ms. _Wilson!_"

It was at that point Bernadette tried to find George's sinewy, Quidditch disciplined frame under all those pesky robes. Professor McGonagall promptly ripped her up by her own robes and yanked her back. Panting, Bernadette struggled for a moment. The dark pupils in her pale eyes were as big as dinner plates as she tried to get back to George. But slowly, as the few licks of the lollipop wore off, her pupils returned to normal size, her breath relaxed and her struggles ceased. She stood in a shocked silence with her hair a mess and looked around at the thirty or so pairs of eyes trained on her in awe.

"The rest of you are free to go," McGonagall sighed wearily.

In a midst of hushed giggles and whispers the rest of the class collected their things and shuffled out. A few of them hung by the doorway, Bernadette noted, no doubt wondering what her and George's fates would be. Bernadette watched them all go. Her cheeks heated up as red as George's hair as he climbed to his feet beside her and McGonagall

She stared daggers at him. All he offered her was his infamous crooked grin. He sent his brother a wink over her shoulder as he exited the class last.

"I've never seen such a display of inappropriate behavior!" McGonagall broke Bernadette's glowering and George's grinning. Her shrill voice echoed in the empty classroom.

"I'd expect this from _you_, Mr. Weasley but not in a million years from you Ms. Wilson. I'm very disappointed in the both of you."

Bernadette hung her head. Humiliation made her willowy body sag. George flipped hair out of his eyes with a practiced flick of his head and obviously tried to quiet his grin.

"You two will march yourselves straight to detention," McGonagall muttered in finality, "Off you go."

Detention? The word fell to the bottom of Bernadette's stomach like a lead weight. She'd never gotten a detention in her _life_. How could this be happening? She couldn't have dreamed the whole scenario up in her worst nightmares.

She took another look at the boy by her side, with his perfect hair and stupid grin. Somewhere a thought trickled _The stupid git was a bloody good kisser, wasn't he?_ But she squashed it bitterly. This was all _his_ fault. Did he even have a motive, other than to cause chaos? Did he do anything besides make a fool out of himself and everyone around him?

Only one thing was certain. From that moment on, Bernadette Wilson was sure she absolutely _loathed_ George Weasley.


	2. Vagabond

Bernadette whisked her books and her wand from her desk and marched out the door. The few students who hung around to wait for the verdict scattered upon her exit. Her dark robes swirled around her in a dark unfurling of shadows. She held her chin high and pressed her lips together in a thin line.

Detention. _Detention_? How could this possibly be happening to her? Bernadette Wilson did _not _get detention. She did not bring attention to herself, she did not break rules, she did not disobey orders and she _certainly_ did not get up in the middle of class to snog random boys. And even if she did, George Weasley wouldn't have been at the top of her list.

She heard his footsteps scuffing behind her. Bernadette tried to quicken her pace but in a few long strides he caught up. She saw a glimpse of his red hair but refused to give him the satisfaction of a glance.

"Stay away from me," she hissed and weaved between a throng of students passing.

"Oh come now, that's no way to treat a bloke after a kiss like that," George quipped. Bernadette could just _hear_ the grin in his voice.

She whirled on him once they were in an open patch of hallway and glared. He skidded to a halt in front of her, hair whisking in front of his face before he cleared it away. His blue eyes gleamed with mischief that she wanted to scratch out. He towered over her and that infuriated her even more. She craned her neck to look up at him.

"Just leave me alone," she said, "It's bad enough you humiliated me in front of the entire class, but you had to get me sent to _detention_ too."

She whispered the word as if she was uttering the Dark Lord's name. She threw up her arms and turned to walk again.

"Detention, I mean _honestly!_ I've never gotten a detention in my whole life."

George snorted as he fell into step with her again.

"You mean to tell me this is your first detention?"

"_Yes_."

"You really need to get out more, love."

Bernadette stopped short again and balled her hands into little white fists at her sides. He was still grinning that stupid crooked grin of his. She was so angry she couldn't even find her voice. George shrugged in her silence.

"There is a bright side to all of this, you know," he murmured.

"Do tell," she frowned.

He dug his hand inside his robes and pulled out a wrapped collection of pink lollipops. He held them for her to see and grinned proudly, puffing out his chest a little.

"Lusty lollies are a success!" he said triumphantly, "You were our very first test subject. And I'm happy to report the results were just what we'd hoped for."

Bernadette's face turned beet red.

He winked, "And more."

Bernadette shrieked with rage and turned away from him again. This time she refused to stop. All she wanted to do was get to the detention room, then she could sit in silence and not have to talk to the stupid sod. She made a notion to try and straighten out her hair as she passed through hallway after hallway, trying to get George off her tail. It was an effort in vain. His long legs covered distance that she couldn't escape from.

He hovered at her side, walking next to her with a practiced saunter and thankfully had enough sense to say quiet after the last outburst. Though he did break their faux obliviousness to one another just once to grab her arm and pull her out of the path of some rowdy first years that came tearing down the hall. She detested the shiver that went up her spine at his hand along her elbow and wrenched out of his grasp.

"_Don't_ touch me," she threatened.

He held up his hands as if to surrender. The sparkle in his eye was unmistakable. He was enjoying her misery. He was _feeding_ off her temper.

They arrived in the detention room without any more altercations. Professor Flitwick presided and he checked the both of them in.

"George," he greeted the red head without a hint of surprise and scrawled his name on the parchment paper in front of him. He raised his eyes and fixed them on Bernadette.

"I never thought I'd see you here, Ms. Wilson," he said.

She felt George's smug eyes on her. Bernadette resisted a scowl and just thanked her lucky stars that Flitwick didn't ask what they were in for.

"You two will clean the fourth floor bathrooms together," he murmured and scratched the quill in finality.

Her face paled. _No, no, no, no. _She opened her mouth to speak up. If she could just explain that they were in detention for their inappropriate classroom behavior he'd be obliged to split them up and administer punishment separately. But George grabbed her arm and dragged her off before she could get a word out.

"We're on it, sir!"

Bernadette allowed him to drag her as far as the door before she ripped out of his grip again.

"I thought I told you not to touch me," she spat.

"Sorry, love, had to get you out of there before you said something you'd regret," he explained.

"What, like –for the love of Merlin, Professor don't pair me with this pervert?"

"Something like that," George said with an offhanded grin, "In all honesty I was just saving you from a mundane, boring few hours of detention. This _is_ your first detention after all, and I being the gentleman I am, I'm obliged to show you the ropes."

"Gentleman," she scoffed.

She marched off toward the bathrooms. He met her inside, smug as ever. There were mops and buckets waiting for them. Magic was forbidden with punishments like these –they were going to have to go all out cleaning and scrubbing. Her stomach turned at the thought of hours upon hours with George Weasley scrubbing toilets.

"Let's just get it over with," she grumbled and picked up the first mop and dragged it out from the bucket.

The mop caught the edge of the bucket and toppled the brown soapy water all over the floor. And the bottoms of her robes. Bernadette stood there for a moment, genuinely stunned at how things could just keep getting worse. George snickered.

"Well that's one way to clean the floor," he chuckled.

She didn't even have the strength to comment back. She just stared at the wet, heavy fabric and the empty bucket lying on its side. George took a step forward. His face almost looked sympathetic, if it weren't for that ever present twinkle in his eye. He produced his wand from his robes and waved it with more expertise than she would have given him credit for. The water spilled back into the bucket which turned right side up again and her robes dried.

She turned up her chin.

"I could have done that myself, thank you very much."

"Don't mention it, love," he said cheekily and began to mop the floor on his side.

Just for a moment, while he was drawing the old head of the mop along the tiles, Bernadette felt something. Something that surpassed the wild fits of rage and the immense disdain she had for the boy across from her. It was a flutter. A simple, nervous flutter in her chest. Like the beating of wings. And she found herself noticing his strong jaw line, and the way the muscles that you wouldn't expect a guy so gangly to have showed through the sleeves of his robes, and the rich color of his hair…

She shook her head and began to mop. Her eyes fixed on the floor. She was just seeing things, that's what was happening. The after effects of the lusty lolly were taking over. Just after effects. George Weasley was vile and irresponsible and pretty much undermined everything she valued with one hint of that crooked smile. There's no way that flutter in her chest was her…_fancying_ him.

Right?


	3. Drip Drop

A week passed in a lazy procession of days. The grounds of Hogwarts started to frost in the early morning and a chill slipped through the cracks in the castle. Life went on rather uneventfully for Bernadette.

Naturally, her rouse with George caused a bit of a stir among her peers. She couldn't walk down a hallway without a few scattered whispers and giggles. Had she been a proud young woman it might have bothered her. But like all other things in life, she pushed it aside to make way for her studies. She couldn't be bothered by what anyone else thought of her. She had a potions assignment due and that took paramount.

Still, she just couldn't quite shake the event off. It was George's fault, she decided. _He_ was the one making it hard to pretend like it hadn't happened all together. She saw him more frequently it seemed. Every corner she turned it seemed like he was behind it with his crooked grin and flashing eyes. Thankfully, in Transfiguration Professor McGonagall had them separated. Bernadette took solace in the distance between them and buried her face in her textbook to avoid making eye contact across the room.

But even outside the classroom his presence tormented her. It was early morning in the Great Hall. Bernadette poured over her parchment paper and scattered books and managed to get a spoonful of cereal into her mouth at the same time. Her two best friends sat across from her, less engrossed in their work and more interested in gossiping. Annie Mugison had been her friend since before Hogwarts. They were alike in mind, spirit and body with similar blonde hair and a passion for learning. Though Annie was more concerned than ever with what everyone thought about her. She wasn't as conventionally pretty as Bernadette but her newfound desire to impress boys seemed to make her more approachable. She was getting asked out almost every night it seemed. Nights she and Bernadette used to study together.

Cory Jennings was practically Bernadette's opposite. She had dark hair down to her waist, charisma enough to fill a building and complete distaste for anything that involved cracking open a book. Bernadette often imagined it was why she got along so well with Cory. They complimented each other. The three girls were practically inseparable, or at least they had been before Annie's transformation. It seemed to Bernadette that Annie's desire to be popular and admired was being encouraged by Cory and they two plum forgot about their bookworm of a friend.

But once more, Bernadette refused to let it bother her. Worrying about trivial things like that was only taking valuable time away from her work. Besides, they'd all been friends since their first year. The bonds would hold steady, no matter which directions they all found themselves in, Bernadette was sure.

"I heard Cedric Diggory is going to put his name in the Goblet," Annie was gushing that particular morning. Her hair fell all down her shoulders in long waves. Bernadette's was tied back in a businesslike bun.

"So damn heroic," Cory sighed after swallowing a piece of toast, "I wouldn't mind if that boy huffled my puff if you know what I mean."

"Quiet down, someone will hear you," Bernadette scolded.

Annie laughed merrily.

"I hope they do. Maybe he'll hear and he'll come over and fall madly in love with me. Then we'll snog all over this table. I don't even care who sees."

"That's an image," Bernadette said dryly. She drew back from her parchment and gave it a quick skim. Satisfied, she rolled it up.

"Too bad it's only a fantasy," Annie sighed. She hadn't picked up on her friend's sarcasm.

"Yeah, the only one of us who's got any_ real_ action recently is Bernadette," Cory snorted. She winked at Bernadette who gave her a narrow look.

"I didn't ask for it," she snapped.

Cory popped her lean shoulders in a shrug.

"Still, George Weasley isn't a bad catch. That boy has certainly done good things for himself," she said and licked her lips.

"Stop," Bernadette pleaded.

Annie giggled and spread around the eggs on her plate. She looked over Bernadette's head and bit her lip.

"You do know he's been staring at you all morning, right?"

Bernadette's face went scarlet.

"He's what?"

"Merlin, she's right. He's staring over here. Has that really been going on all bloody morning?" Cory piped up.

"Swear it," Annie confirmed.

They both giggled and looked away.

"I think he fancies you," Annie breathed.

"Yeah! Why else would he have given _you_ the lolly? He must not think you're repulsive if he knew you'd be sucking face after you tasted it," Cory said.

"Oh, oh! He's getting up!" Annie said.

Bernadette ventured a casual look over her shoulder. Sure enough, he collected his things and stood from the bench at the Gryffindor table. His long hair fell in front of his face before he rose to his full height and flicked it out of his way. Their eyes got tangled for a moment amidst the bustling background. Bernadette whipped her head back around.

"Don't encourage him," she hissed to her friends, who only giggled harder, "And for the record he does _not_ fancy me."

Annie and Cory suddenly shut up. Their giggling ceased and they watched with wide eyed, knowing looks to her left. Bernadette turned and caught a glimpse of his tall stature passing by her table. She turned in her seat to follow his image.

"Oi, Bernie," he said in passing and gave her a wink. Then, he continued off.

Annie and Cory had the grace to wait until he was gone to burst into hysterics.

"Bernie?" Cory screeched, "Bloody hell that's the best thing I've ever heard!"

Bernadette huffed and collected her books. She left her half-eaten cereal in her hurry and got up from the bench. Annie and Cory barely even noticed her. They were laughing so hard neither of them could catch a breath. Bernadette took the window of opportunity and marched out of the Great Hall as fast as her legs would take her.


	4. Aperture

"The Yule Ball is first and foremost a dance."

Bernadette nearly groaned aloud. Although any noise of displeasure she might have expressed would have been drowned out in the collective wave of the rest of the students. All except _her_ friends of course. As McGonagall continued to explain Bernadette strained her ears to try and hear her over Cory and Annie's prattling.

"A dance? Brilliant, absolutely brilliant," Annie gushed in a whisper, "Do you two think Roger will ask me?"

"Davies? What do you want to go to the dance with that sorry sod for?" Cory snorted.

Annie looked hurt, "He's cute, right? And he's popular. I think he's cute. Well, I mean he thinks I'm cute."

Cory rolled her eyes. And for once, her and Bernadette did something simultaneously.

"You can do much better, believe me," Cory murmured.

"Who are _you_ taking?" Annie hissed.

"Who knows?" Cory said with a sly smirk, "The highest bidder?"

They giggled like hyenas.

"Would you two shut up, I'm trying to listen!" Bernadette whispered.

"Oh, of course, she can't miss any important details," Cory countered, "Bernie needs to know everything so when George asks her she'll be prepared."

The two girls snickered as quietly as they could manage. Bernadette whirled on them in a fluttering of light blonde hair.

"As if I would _ever_, ever in a million years go with that git," she growled, "And _stop_ calling me that."

McGonagall clapped her hands together in the center of the floor.

"On your feet!"

There was a whirl of robes and nervous feet. Bernadette didn't have time to reprimand her friends any further before she was whisked along in the crowd. Boys shuffled their feet and made a big show of getting up, as all of them were too proud. The girls certainly showed bravado getting up first, but they didn't dare cross the middle of the battlefield.

The two groups finally met in the discord. Bernadette was shoved left and right, pushed forward and backward. She almost went down on her face more than a few times.

"Excuse me…stop pushing…really now, control your- " Bernadette stuttered as she lost herself in the crush of the crowd.

Then all of a sudden a hand darted out and snatched her wrist. She gasped and let herself be pulled through the throng of students like a flower splitting the water of a river. Finally she broke free from the forest of awkward limbs and heavy cloth robes and fell right into the arms of George Weasley.

Perfectly in time with the music and without missing a beat he whisked her into a slow turn and spun away from the mess of students. She was thankful to be able to breathe again but furious at her knight in shining armor.

""Lo, Bernie," he greeted her and gave her a disarming smile. His red hair shone amber in the light. She looked down and found herself admiring his footwork. He spun her gently to which she was too surprised at to respond and then twirled her back into his arms.

"Stop calling me that," she said when she found her voice.

"Stop calling you what?" he said and spun her to face him again. He looked fairly innocent and she wondered if he was faking ignorance at all. She decided to let it go.

"I never thought you to be a dancer, Weasley," she murmured haughtily. The proximity of their bodies made her feel lightheaded. She tried to concentrate on her feet to match his.

"I could say the same for you," he smirked.

At that precise moment she managed to stumble a bit over her own feet and land on his toe. He laughed warmly in her ear and caught her by the elbows before she went flat on her face.

"Nevermind, then," he said.

She wanted to pull away and walk off but there were too many people. She would rather die than make a scene. So she kept her hands on his broad shoulders as he swung them back into the music, feeling the heavy curves of his strength in her palms and the swish of their robes around their feet.

"What do you want from me?" she asked all of a sudden.

He raised his eyebrows.

"I don't know what you mean, love."

"You know exactly what I mean," she snapped, "Why are you harassing me? Of all people, why did you give _me_ the lollipop?"

He looked alarmed all of a sudden. But if he was really concerned about anything she said, the sensation vanished with a practiced crooked grin.

"You intrigue me," he admitted.

"I'm surprised anything more complex than a dung bomb intrigues you," she hissed.

He ignored the quip altogether.

"I see it as my personal duty to break your perfect little…_bubble_," he said with a mischievous spark in his eye, like two firecrackers that were firing too close.

"My _what?_" she asked.

Just then, she felt eyes upon her. Giggles passed through the crowds in ripples.

"Can't get enough of Weasley, huh, Wilson?" a boy said in passing.

"They make a right pair, don't they?"

"Oi, lay off," George called.

Bernadette ripped her hands off of him as if she'd been burned. So much for not making a scene. Her cheeks flushed dark red and she turned on her heel. It seemed she was storming out of places frequently as of late.

George reached out to grab her arm.

"Bernadette," he called.

She wrenched out of his grasp.

"Just leave me alone," she said and stalked off with the whispers and laughter of the peers she used to not care about behind her.


	5. The Weary Kind

It was decidedly the worst day of Bernadette Wilson's life. First, she endured a morning of ridicule. As she was growing accustomed to. She and George Weasley were big news in the halls of Hogwarts. At first she'd been just miffed by it. Was there _really_ nothing more interesting to talk about than who she did or did not snog? The tournament was just around the corner, the Yule Ball creeping up on its ankles, and yet all anyone could talk about was her and George?

But she was just _tired_ of it now. Her body's defenses could only withstand so much. Deep down under her textbook manners and innate drive to learn and be studious, she was a _girl_. A teenaged girl at that. And despite all her pomp and circumstance about not giving a hoot what the student body thought of her, she really did. She cared quite a bit, in fact, and the constant berating was wearing her nerves thin.

She endured it though, as she'd grown accustomed to doing. The sole saving light in the whole day was that she didn't run into the git who started it all during her classes or her time outside them. But that was the _only_ saving light.

At lunch she spilled half her meal down her robes. She was late to her next class as she tried to scramble to find new ones. She dropped all her books and parchment in the hallway on her way to potions. No one bothered to help her.

Unbeknownst to her, the worst had yet to come. Potions class was never on the list of her favorite classes at Hogwarts. It was dark and chilled in the dungeons and Professor Snape, though she admired his diligence, had always scared the living Hell right out of her. But she performed well most days thanks to her work ethic. And he hadn't snapped at her in all her time at school. Probably too afraid he'd shatter her. Even his surly demeanor didn't have the heart to crack the picture perfect Bernadette Wilson.

Until that very day, of course. The day where misfortune after misfortune had piled up on top of her. He held her back after the rest of the students filed out and looked very grave as he approached her desk. At first she'd been excited. Perhaps he was going to congratulate her on her potions essay. Not that he was one to ever congratulate a non-Slytherin student with anything more than a sarcastic edge, but still after all that had happened to her that day she had to remain hopeful.

He approached her with his robes swirling like dark, mocking shadows. His wan, pale face glowed in the lowlight.

"Miss Wilson," he hissed.

She blinked her oddly colored eyes at him like a rabbit might. He laid a piece of parchment paper down on her desk in front of her. Her perfect, elegantly scripted handwriting gleamed back at her. As did the horrid, unimaginable, _impossible_ mark on the top. She'd never gotten a mark like that in her life. Ever. Not once. Not even close.

"I'm disappointed," was all Professor Snape muttered. But that was enough to drive the knife in just a centimeter more and destroy Bernadette completely.

He turned away in a whisk of shadows, and she thanked Merlin for it. Because no sooner had he spun on his heel did a heavy, hot tear roll down the length of her face.

"Sorry, Professor," she whispered and stood, collecting her things with fumbling hands, "Thank you."

She was out the door before he could respond. Clutching her books and her paper to her chest she burst from the stone confinements of Hogwarts, that had never felt _confining_ before that moment she noted, and onto the dark grounds that hung heavy with the setting sun. The grass was stained gold under her feet as she ran for the cover of a lonely place where no one would find her. She found herself at the bank of the lake and crumpled to her knees at its cold shore. The water hadn't frozen yet but her cheeks felt like they had.

So she decided then was as good a time as any to let go of everything she'd been holding onto for the past few weeks. Tear after tear rolled down her red face. The wind swept up her hair and undid it in singular, white-gold strands from her bun. She dropped her books to the ground beside her and just sat there, crying like a baby and sniveling. It felt bloody good, too. All up until she heard a voice.

"Bernie?"

She froze. It was strange how fast she could stop her heaving breath and pathetic sobbing. She bottled up all the air she was about to unleash and swallowed it back. This could _not_ be happening. Of _all_ bloody people. She wiped at her eyes and started to collect her books, fully intending to get up and run before George Weasley even got the chance to confirm it was indeed, Bernadette Wilson sobbing like she'd never cry another tear in her life down by the lake.

But he appeared at her side as if she'd dreamed him up. The setting sun made his hair shine auburn and his eyes pale, wide blue. His fair brow knotted up as their eyes tangled and he noticed the obvious signs of tears despite her efforts to wipe them all away. She turned her face from him and collected her books into the tight vice of her arms.

"What's wrong?" he asked. His voice was soft, gentle. There was nothing remotely mocking or teasing in his tone.

It was an innocent question. He reached forward and grabbed the inside of her elbow with featherlike pressure, just enough so that her arms relaxed around her books. She ventured a look at him again, testing to see if he was still being sincere. It would be just her luck if he'd brought a camera or another one of his gag candies at a time like this. But upon a second glance she discovered his brow still crumpled with concern, his jaw tight and his eyes searching hers for answers. Almost like a real, genuine person.

"Nothing," she resisted him anyway and sniffed as if to contradict herself on purpose, "I'm fine."

"Bernadette," he murmured. Her real name on his lips mollified her. "I'm looking right at you, you know. I can tell you're not."

She shrugged away from his grip but lowered her books into her lap. He wasn't going to let her go anywhere. She accepted defeat. How much lower could she get, anyway? There was no use in running away. The whole school thought they were getting it on in broom closets nightly anyway. Might as well fuel the fire by talking with him by the lake. And it was clear she was crying. He couldn't see her any worse off. This was the ultimate low for Bernadette.

"Just a bad day," she finally admitted.

Another tear rolled down her cheek and she hurried to brush it back. This was just _mortifying_. She hiccupped and felt his hand gently on her upper back. It wasn't lecherous, it wasn't pervy, it was just _there_. A wordless token that _he_ was there. And for some reason it comforted her.

"This was some bad day, I'd say," he said with a half of a smile.

Then, like no one had really ever done for her before, he leveled with her and looked into her eyes.

"Tell me about it."

She was surprised for a moment, unsure of what to do. Not many people asked her to _talk_. Especially not about herself, or her day, or how she was doing. All her parents ever wanted to know in their letters was school. Her friends didn't give a damn about anything other than boys as of late. She didn't have many friends besides them to ask either. Occasionally a professor would ask her and be somewhat interested, but they were all busy witches and wizards. They could only spare her a little time.

Now, here was this boy, this boy who had ruined _everything_ for her –and yet he was asking her to open up? And he really wanted to listen?

Bernadette had no idea what to do than to spill everything she'd been bottling up inside her. It rushed from her lips along with a few more tears and embarrassing hiccups. He nodded, spoke when appropriate, asked more questions (apologized profusely for his lusty lolly expiriement) and finally let her finish her horrific tale. Somehow along the line, her hand had become tucked inside his.

"And on top of that, I got this _horrible_ mark in potions," she exhaled. Her eyes filled with tears again. _That_ one was the kicker. All the other events she could forgive or brush away if it hadn't been for that.

George seemed to pick up on the weight of it.

"So?" he asked, "Bloody hell, I get bad marks every day."

Bernadette shook her head.

"You don't understand, I don't. I _can't_."

Her hand slid away from his and she turned away. She rubbed at her eyes. He was patient with her.

"What do you mean you can't?" he asked.

She sniffed.

"I mean I _can't_, I can't let down my parents like that. I don't know how to tell them. They'll be so…so…._disappointed_._"_

The word was bitter and hard on her tongue. She swallowed it down as best she could with a thick gulp and ran her hands through her mangled hair. Out of the corner of her eye she saw George's eyes darken.

"Bernie, it's natural for kids to let their parents down _sometimes_. I mean, just look at my Mum. I don't know how she puts up with Fred and I but she loves us still. Kids make mistakes. That's what we're good at. I mean…some more than others, obviously," he smiled ruefully hoping she would return it. When she didn't, he prodded.

"Why can't you disappoint your parents?"

"It's a long story," she sighed. She seemed to wilt in front of him with the exhale.

"I'm listening."

She looked back at him with red eyes, the pale blue in them standing stark against the swollen background. He nodded with encouragement and she bit her lip. New tears threatened to spill.

"My…my brother. He was older than me, in school before I was. He was the perfect student, my parents were just so proud of him. But he got sick and died right before I started my first year."

Her exhausted defenses let the new tears fall freely. She didn't bother wiping them away.

"Ever since then I've just been expected to fill his shoes. My parents have always told me I'd do great things and have his memory to inspire me, so I worked like a dog to try and be just like him or better. I just…I can't be a dissapointment to them, they've already lost one child and I don't want them to think their second is a failure. Then it'll be like they lost both."

She finally lost it then. What had been slow, trickling tears through her previous ramblings fell like waterfalls then. Her thin frame shook with sobs and she fell sideways into his arms. She pressed her face against his robes and felt his sturdy heartbeat pounding from under them. His muscled grip collected her and enclosed her in a safe cocoon –she'd never felt warmer in her life.

"There, there," he soothed her until her sobs quieted.

"I'm so sorry, I never knew," he murmured, "That's a bloody heavy weight you've got to carry, you know that right?"

She nodded against his chest, not trusting her voice. It was then, in the wake of her breakdown, she felt a little uncomfortable clinging to George Weasley for dear life and spilling her soul to him. Had he slipped her something? Another candy to make her lose all her inhibitions?

She was sure he didn't have the chance to give her anything. And couldn't argue with the fact that even though she was a little embarrassed, she decided with a clear head she wasn't quite ready to let go of him.

"They're your parents, Bernadette. They'll love you no matter what you do. You could act like I do and they'd still love you, they might not be _thrilled_ with you, but they'd love you. You can't walk around all the time with this fear that if you slip up once they'll think you're a failure. That's too much pressure," he said.

And for someone who she thought had a head full of lusty lollies and dungbombs, he spoke with wisdom well beyond his years. With a good deal of compassion and insight too, more than she ever thought him capable of.

Finally she pulled away. She sniffed and wiped at her cheeks that turned redder under embarrassment. The tracks of her tears stung cold with the early winter wind. She lifted her eyes to his face and he smiled that crooked (rather _endearing_?) smile at her.

"You need to loosen up a bit, have some fun, not worry about what your parents might think," he said with a nod, "You need to do something for yourself and not worry about protecting them."

She glanced down at her knees. Easier said than done. What he said made sense but putting it to use wasn't going to be easy. She was scared. Did she even want his advice? What was she thinking, taking life lessons from _George Weasley_? Of all the people to listen to. But she couldn't help herself. She drank up his words like they were her only sustenance.

"But, there's one thing you have to do before you can do any of that," he said, and she noticed a spark in his eye.

"Please don't make me lick another lusty lolly," she whispered and wiped once more at her cheeks.

He laughed gently and shook his head.

"No, love. You just need to _smile_."

She gave him a quizzical look. He sent her a disarming grin.

"Do you know, I don't think I've ever seen you smile. Not even once," he said.

Her lips twitched.

"Which is quite a shame, because I for one am under the strong belief that you have a _beautiful_ smile, Bernadette Wilson."

That did it. Her fair, pink lips rose into a dainty smile. Reserved and polite like the rest of her, but it was still a smile. George laughed.

"Well what do you know, I was right all along."

He stood from beside her and extended his hand.

"Bernadette, would you like to go on a late night fly with me?" he asked.

She looked back towards Hogwarts. The sun had since dipped below the castle. The night was dark like velvet. Candlelight flickered inside. In a few minutes she was supposed to be back in the Common Room, getting ready for bed. Students were forbidden to be out on the grounds at this hour. Yesterday, she wouldn't have been caught dead with her toe out the door at this time of night.

"I would love to," she breathed and gave him her hand.

He lifted her from the ground like she was air itself and retrieved his broom from the ground that she hadn't noticed lying there. She climbed on first with his help and steadying hand and he got on behind her. His arms came around beside her to grip the broom and enclose her in safety and with one expert kick of his foot on the ground, they were off. The ground fell away from them, as did her books and potions essay, and they drifted softly into the night.


End file.
